Five to the End
by GreenSpine
Summary: Remus x Sirius. A look at the five months leading up to the Potters' deaths and how it became possible for Sirius to suspect Remus.


Warnings: Slash  
  
Pairings: Remus/Sirius  
  
Disclaimer: It's late and I can't be arsed to be creative. Remus, Sirius, and the world of Harry Potter belong to JKR and the various companies she has given rights.  
  
AN: Remus' POV. One answer to the question: "How could Sirius possibly mistrust Remus, given how very in love we all know they were?" Inspired by conversations with many people on the subject...and produced by Moonraven's preference.  
  
Given how loyal Sirius is, I do not believe he would suspect Remus unless Remus himself had given him reason. Please keep in mind, however, that this only addresses one side of the issue and does not encompass everything Sirius experiences that leads to the final outcome.  
  
Undying thanks (but not my firstborn) go to Rynne for beta-reading this odd piece. Damn, the woman is good!

**Five to the End**  
by Xellas  
  
I. Five Months Remaining  
  
Remus watched as fat raindrops hurled themselves against the windowpane, splattering beyond individual recognition, the remnants combining to trickle down to the ground below. For every drop exploded, another came in its place, relentless in their desire to return to formlessness. It was, after all, the nature of water: to cling to no shape, to fight nothing, and change as the elements commanded.  
  
Human nature was not nearly as adaptable. Remus himself had fought almost every single month he could remember, when the moon hung full in the sky and his form twisted into something monstrous. He would continue to fight as long as he drew breath, despite the fact that he knew he would never, ever win. The memory of the struggle was what he clung to when the transformations were complete; it was how he found his way back to being whole.  
  
And he fought, too, against the Darkness that had risen. The one he hated fiercely because it too sought nothing less than total submission based upon an ideology as twisted and unforgiving as the tainted blood that ran through his veins.  
  
The wind shrieked. Only for a moment, but the screaming in Remus' mind did not die so readily; instead, it grew louder and became almost human. Another memory, the voice not his own, and he held himself accountable for this suffering as much as the Ministry representative who had cast the Unforgiveable.  
  
War is ugly, he reminded himself. At least this time it had been one of _them_ writhing in agony on a cold cell floor.  
  
He wondered if Edgar Bones had screamed as long or as piercingly as the captured Death Eater, Alistair Nigellus. How long had it taken before Edgar, like Alistair, had become unable to find his way back to his own mind in between blasts of the Cruciatus curse? The physical wounds he had taken in addition to the curse had been horrifying, but the Healers had warned that even if his body could be healed, his mind would probably never have returned. Perhaps fortunately, Edgar had died shortly after the Death Eaters had dumped him unceremoniously in front of the Ministry entrance. There was a daughter left behind, Remus had heard, who would now grow up fatherless.(1)  
  
The rain came down harder than ever.  
  
Alistair had fought, at first. Had cursed and spat in his captors' faces, Remus' included. That did nothing to change the fact that he was now locked away in Azkaban, where whispered rumors claimed that even the dementors refused to feed from him because he had no more mind left than a frightened animal.  
  
Remus hated Alistair and everything for which he stood. Only, he hated what had been done to him far, far more. It was wrong to strip away a person's humanity, to take away everything that made someone who they were. Remus had a taste of that once every month and literally could not wish it upon another, not even his worst enemy.  
  
Uncontrolled magic escaped him for the first time in years. The window cracked, a single jagged split dividing it neatly into two. The pooling raindrops simply adjusted their flow.

* * *

II. Three Months Remaining  
  
He felt as though the words had been charmed onto his forehead: _Remus John Lupin Will No Longer Take Prisoners._ He would and did kill without compunction, but the one overriding command, both from the Ministry and the Order, was to capture, not kill, whenever possible. The information obtained from prisoners was sorely needed. In reality, he knew that no one had noticed. He wasn't treated any differently than they had before. It was only overwrought nerves, the burden of a man with one too many secrets to hold.  
  
He existed from day to day, fulfilling his duties to the Order of the Phoenix much as he always had, even though he hated the necessity of working hand in hand with the Ministry as much as he hated the Death Eaters. In part, it was because he knew his disappearance would bring a pack of Aurors on his trail faster than he could blink; suspicions were running high and Remus knew far too much to be left alone should he defect. Mostly, however, he remained because the people he loved needed him there.  
  
They were all so damn tired of the war. Neither James nor Lily ever managed anything even close to enough sleep; their gaunt faces and shadowed eyes looked terribly old. Only when Harry was present was either of them able to smile. Peter had developed a nervous twitch. He never spoke unless spoken to first and his answers always ended with a raising of pitch, an implied plea for acceptance of his words.  
  
Even Sirius was not immune, though during the day he tried his best to keep up morale by playing the fool. He took great pains to fly his motorbike in to the office, no matter what the weather, flaunting its illegality in the face of Ministry officials who needed him far too much to do anything about it. His robes had been replaced almost entirely by Muggle outfits, each more outrageous than the last, all heavy boots and denim, spikes and leather.  
  
The one constant in his wardrobe was a black coat made of snakeskin, enchanted so that every time one of the Order died, the name of the fallen was inscribed in glowing silver letters on the back. There wasn't a witch or wizard with them who couldn't recite those names from memory, or who could do so with dry eyes. When questioned about it directly, Sirius would laugh and say it was an ugly coat, but that he would replace it soon enough with one made from Voldemort's scaly hide.  
  
At night, however, alone in their shared flat, Sirius' pretensions of flippancy vanished and he turned to Remus for comfort. And always, Remus managed to find something left in his troubled heart to give because he loved Sirius.  
  
But as time went on, it became steadily more difficult to find the right words to whisper into his mate's ear. Voldemort's side was winning and as the Ministry grew increasingly desperate, it sanctioned more and more things that would previously have been considered unthinkable. Use of the Unforgiveables was common, and trials had gone from a sip of Veritaserum and a joke to a mere formality in which the disposal of the accused was discussed over tea and biscuits. Those conversations made Remus tremble with anger and he often had to excuse himself, Apparating home to recover over a glass of firewhisky.  
  
Remus could tell that Sirius had noticed the change. The werewolf knew it was apparent in his eyes and in his scent, that he could hide nothing from his mate. Although Order assignments had become almost continuous, Sirius still found one hundred little ways to show Remus he loved him, that if Remus needed anything at all, he had only to ask. These gestures sustained Remus even as they made him feel incredibly guilty. Sirius needed to use his energy and focus to keep himself alive. There was no way Remus was going to give even more weight to Sirius' burden by adding his troubles to his partner's.

* * *

III. One Month Remaining  
  
Eventually, as was bound to happen, Sirius confronted Remus directly. And a confrontation it was, regardless of the way that they were lying wrapped around each other and that the question had been punctuated with soft kisses.  
  
Remus had answered honestly, his normally smooth voice halting and stammering as he tried to find the words that wouldn't sound like the lies they weren't. Painful as it was to acknowledge, there was a spy amongst them. There was no more room for secrets of any kind, even those kept out of kindness. He admitted the depths of his hatred for the Ministry, how repellant it was for him to see even a Death Eater tortured and broken and used. How they reminded him of his own condition and made him wonder what would happen if one day he woke up after a full moon and forgot who he was.  
  
His doubts were taken in by Sirius, weighed and measured, and came up wanting. It was a battle for survival, he reminded Remus – as though he had forgotten. They were only doing what was necessary; no one liked it.  
  
Then Sirius' low tones became impassioned, anger twisting his features as he asked how Remus could possibly doubt himself. He demanded to know what made Remus even consider that mere lycanthropy could overcome him, when he had already achieved more than any other werewolf ever had. Without giving Remus time to argue or reply, Sirius sternly reminded him that he was a pillar of strength for the Order, second only to Dumbledore in his ability to make calm decisions under pressure. They all needed Remus; he had no business allowing moral or personal questions to get in the way.  
  
The verbal tirade was exactly what Remus had needed to hear. He smiled, a heartfelt, genuine smile that was the first to appear on his face for months. He held Sirius tightly, kissed and thanked him. His mate grumbled, a mere token meant to cover up his too-obvious pride at having been able to help. Remus fell asleep quickly, secure in the unwavering faith his mate had placed in him.  
  
That night, Remus had a new nightmare, one that wasn't centered on his victims, past or future.  
  
The final battle against Voldemort's forces was about to begin. Order members and Ministry soldiers alike were coming to him with question after question, every one of them vital to the success of the mission. In his dream, Remus could not find his voice; he watched in horror as he simply shrugged and sent them on their way.  
  
One by one, they flew to their deaths, and only when he stood over the unmarked, still forms of Peter, James, Lily, and Sirius could he speak: "I've betrayed them all."  
  
The sound of his own voice woke him up with a start, to find Sirius' grey eyes open and filled with fear.  
  
As the pounding of his heart slowly died down, Remus realized that his dream had given him the key to understanding his greatest fear: that somehow, at the wrong moment, his control would break down and that the people he loved the most would suffer for it. Having faced the worst, he found the belief in himself that was necessary to ensure it would never become reality.  
  
"It's alright, love." Remus reassured Sirius, having found his path once more. "I think I've finally beaten this particular demon."  
  
Sirius smiled, but the concern did not entirely leave his gaze.

* * *

IV. Zero  
  
When the Potters named Sirius as their Secret Keeper, Remus was torn between approval of his friends' choice and concern for his partner's safety. He understood when they told him that because of the danger to Harry if the spy turned directly violent, Sirius would not expose the location of their new home to anyone other than Dumbledore. Had they tried to invite him over, in fact, he would probably have refused and cautioned them against having any guests as well.  
  
What stung was the lost look that had settled behind Sirius' clear grey eyes. Sirius had shown no inclination to discuss his own crisis of faith, not yet, although Remus hoped that in time he would be able to help his mate and return the kindness he had been given.

* * *

V. The End  
  
No one at the Order would tell him anything and Remus couldn't make himself care whether it was out of kindness or suspicion. Dumbledore had shown him the evidence, had confirmed that Sirius was guilty beyond any doubt whatsoever.  
  
He could not even make himself wonder who it was who decided that in this case Cruciatus was not necessary, who had argued that a trial would be a waste of resources, and who had simply asked for more scones. He was secretly glad of both decisions, although he could not have said which reaction made him hate himself more.  
  
He packed his things and left, knowing that despite his efforts, nothing would ever be the same. 

_

* * *

_

_Owari_  
  
(1) The Death Eaters killed _both_ of Susan's parents. This fic takes the liberty of assuming they did not actually die at the same time.


End file.
